


A Free Feather

by Anonymous



Category: Black Lagoon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26786269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Relationships: Balalaika/Rebecca "Revy" Lee
Kudos: 6
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	A Free Feather

Revy’s hands felt raw along with the rest of her body that Fry Face was restraining like fucking handcuffs. Heat popped in her veins as the pressure tightened; colors became a scent and it was the same shade that was under the bitch’s eyes. An ache was present on the left side of her face, it was fuzzy on whether it was because of a bastard or a bitch.

Handcuffs became tighter as she just stared and accepted it. Fry Face had an odd frown as it just moved in motion, in silence.  
Everything was slow, like the action movies as she just viewed herself from a camera and watched herself glance between a metal snowflake and a sandy sun for 10 minutes straight. A decision was made when the sun became paper and the now full moon had nobody to escort as it pointed at the only recognizable comfort in the room.

So she got out of bed, the sheets told her it was a mistake, her steps outmatched the breaths she took on the way there. She was so close before she smelled gunpowder as she was thrown to the wall. A somber dissatisfaction drooped to the ground where the metal lay. It was like watching paint dry as they were suspended in the air by a noose for thirty seconds before hitting the concrete wooden floor. They clung to each other and the sound that rung in the smoggy air brought more peace than it was worth.

She didn’t like facing the wall, unable to see and only have another body pressed against her. So she spun and what hit her made her vision clear for an hour with her mask still intact

A mouth was moving and she needed to feel more of it. So she talked, she just kept speaking to have that clarity again, hitting her in the face. Just to shred the paper in the room or just to reside on the opposite side of the feathers that formed angel wings.  
Hearing the words being drawn out of her mouth made her think of her dad, just demanding and ordering the same shit every day.

“Rebecca get me a beer, get another one, you whore, worthless cocksucker, you spread his legs for him didn’t you? Asked for it, just laid there as he didn’t even need to pay fuckin’ fifty cents. Becky get me another dri-“

After a while she forgot the word drink had one syllable instead of two. She didn’t forget the words, though who would want to be reminded about a shitty first time? Or remember being ordered around, playing the role of a soldier sent on a suicide mission, their superior not giving a damm if they came back crawling, dead, with breath smoking the blood being pumped out of the arteries of the body. 

Understanding all of it has become an unworthy effort as it only makes her drink harder as bullets split the patterns of snowflakes as now she has more cocaine and money than she did before.

Grinding of teeth, mirrored how he held her there and his voice dripped in a diseased balance between anger and sadness. His voice just overall disappointed as she forced him to do it. That hurt more than the scar she gained afterwards.

“Pathetic guns”

Hearing those two words just blew everything out of her, wasn’t really fun if her power was pathetic. It made a difference, words. Whenever she came back from a job pride would empower her with how many she shot and how good she was at her trajectory and ability to dodge bullets as she marked their bodies with her own. Rock thought of her as a bloodthirsty psycho by now, he had to. It was clear on the grimace of his face and scrunching of nose that it still was sick.

Blood was never the point of her guns, her own two hands were the point as she’s able to excel at something and get a reaction of fear and terror as they run. Non-hostile targets are just more paper to shred and see that fear in their soul as her power, her bullets, her guns, her hands force them stupid as they slump on the rosy red ground.

A glare of light flushed her eyes from the exposed slits of the blinds and she tried to demand Fry Face to see it. It didn’t work as everything was overloading her senses as time moved forward, not backward like the embers of an explosion or a bullet as it glides. Wasn’t so satisfying if she missed half the fucking show.

More words, as usual. A chuckle bore in her throat at her “aggravating behavior”. That’s why no family would pick her when the time came. Words just wouldn’t stop as the lady ran her words as if she was Janet’s fucking twin on how bad her aggravating behavior was, going on and on until the people or person just became bored on what they thought was a fixable problem became an unfixable problem. It was only made worse when Revy would curse out the whore when she was only halfway through her fucking biography.

She might not know true tactical methodical torture though having her ears not strain to hear exaggerated sighs and watch as eyes become dim and start sparing glances at the clock. Just fucking sitting there as the bitch unravels shit as it matches the same thoughts scraping your brain as you glare in the mirror.

People at the end of her memorial of the shittiest kid ever, born without even Satan’s love, end up glancing at the clock with more respect than they did with you by the time they left, sneering at you like you’re Satan yourself and you know they’re the same fucking breed of people that left you with smoke, spit and a dollar bill. Ironically, the one action that hurt the most was them letting a sigh of relief echo out as if they were saved from letting the boogeyman into their sanctuary of a home.

One encounter imprinted in her brain when in her usual cursing match, the wife asked her the stupidest question she’s ever heard. “Do you talk to your parents that way?!” She just stared and glanced at their kid wondering how retarded he was if he had the same genetics. So she started cursing out the parents and it ended with them leaving and her receiving a familiar backhand to the face.

The lady was calm, relaxed as she said it; like the teachers as she stayed behind for detention. As if it was regular routine and is a plain fact stamped on her face as she was read off it. “You ever realize why nobody picks you? Do you realize that every time I could just not say a word and at the end they would still walk away? Or that you’re more trouble than you’re worth? What about you think about that Miss Lee, and face the fact that nobody will ever leave with you or truly want you in the first place.”

After that the lady rarely spoke and made her point to her when there wasn’t a single difference. They still had the same fucking reactions and habits as before at the end of it, the only thing different was that their eyes never had to dim in the first place or even check the clock before they left.

Fate decided to fuck with her some more as the family with the retarded kid came by. Their son had a rectangle head and “dickhead” became her official title for him. As revenge he dared her to drink his parent’s fanciest ass wine to get to the sugar crystals at the bottom.

While she was in the middle of chugging it he smashed it and glass got in her fucking mouth, as it was actively cutting the insides of it as blood kept sliding like slick out onto the carpet. The foster parents found her hunched on the floor like that, drunk from what she already drank and every word she kept stuttering out only stained their perfect sanctuary.

Blood kept doing repeated rolls off of her tongue as she was gargling and choking on it, but each movement of her mouth only acted like barbed wire. Only solution her body had to that problem was to do a dirty blend of gagging and throwing up.

It would be a pathetic way to die, because of a mistake. One that might hit Rock in the form of a stray bullet as it goes in and out of his body. Imagining it in reverse makes it a lighter reality as she stands in front of him, or maybe even hugging him; cradling his body, as the bullet just creates a rag doll out of her body as it free-falls to the ground. Maybe fate would have her be a rag doll for a different person, fuck if she knows.

It hurt, why did Fry Face have to pull this? Just making the headache worse instead of just giving better pain to focus on. Obviously Fry Face had to be in power and assume every fucking thing. Points were still given as she got the big picture unlike Rebecca Mary Lee though there wasn’t any fucking details Fry Face knew that changed the fairytale.

Only thing that brought her back was the gentle tone she imagined the women in the magazines would have as she slept with it to her chest. Along with the slacking of handcuffs.

A sick twist to her fairytale as those handcuffs prevented her from opening the door to the apartment. As she sprinted towards it; tripping her as it opened was her dad. So she was stuck there, with her backside vulnerable again in the same day...or night. Luckily Daddy solved the problem of the handcuffs as it slipped off once her fingers were broken.

Breath broke free and everything was clear as her body became blackout drunk, yet her eyes still rolled along the soft pillow floor. Taking another breath it transformed into neutral wood. Breaking the eye contest with her Sis everything began a moderate pace again.

Reeking within her was confusion on whether to feel happy her wrists were only a fluffy lavender or sad that they weren’t cleanly broken. Power only came from her taut body and fists as her fingernails left imprints, but her teeth remained grinding as the ground kept shifting between three textures that her mind didn’t know the answer to.

Silence was a worthless sound as she wished there was more screaming and shouting directed at her, something predictable. Biting ice suspended in the air, shattering on her body like the steel she tasted on her way to the cement. Then of fucking course her eyes began to be little shits and sweat without her power. Come along the fucking light that had her tasting spit again and reminding her that all of her golden power came from feathers.

She just shut her eyes so she didn’t have to see a face when the light turned off and rubbed the tears on her left eye. It’d be something else if it fell without her consent. Air started to flow again as it reminded her that no you’re not going to be hit if you keep hyperventilating like a little shithead.

Looking up she saw the same look in blue eyes that one of the boys at her school once had. As if he felt sorry for a second while he put his whole body weight on her skinny ass before spitting on her. Didn’t help they told the rest of the school what happened and her new title was either spit or cigar girl.

Her mind flinched as a thumb began caressing her cheek and closing her eyes felt so good compared to the ground behind the Yellow Flag. Definitely better than the women in the magazines as she expected a pat of pity on her head like a dog.

Revy only nodded because she didn’t understand and probably never would if her Two Hands didn’t answer a damm question about the war zone in New York. She wasn’t a soldier though damm if she felt like one, heading out with a duffel bag giving rations in dirty ziplock bags that were full of white. It made her feel important on rare occasions when they gave thanks to her, treating her as if she was a fellow soldier on the front lines with them.

A fucker still returned as it ripped her face on the way down. At this point she wouldn’t be able to fight if it hit the floor.

Regrets were made in her life and just looking at it made her wish that her Sis just snapped her neck instead of leaving a light bruise on her wrists. It would probably happen anyway if she found out she was fucking a baby murderer. At least the conversation kept her in reality, the family didn’t speak actual words or at least complete ones.

Everything just cut off at the end like poor Mr. Lee.

Glancing at Balalaika left her body buzzing like the bottles of alcohol she drinks just to control her mind; letting it shut down for a second. Not reminding her that she’s living a lie. Seconds later she found herself sitting next to the savior of a child. Revy found herself acting like a little brat herself for a second as she scooted closer begging for something just fucking gentle.

Not the moment where out of curiosity of never receiving a hug from her own dad she hugged him; the guy that promised to save her as he sat with the curb with her.

They kissed

Memories attempted to unravel what happened after that. It’s just blocked before her mind spells it out. Like on a test when the other kids ask what questions they got wrong she doesn’t even know the question. Those questions shrink into black feathers when she considers that maybe, maybe, if she just fucking ate less he wouldn’t have been her first time and just left, disgusted, hunting for a diamond ring.

Her body seemed to get the memo as she threw up on the way to the apartment when she passed by a hooker not a fucking block away from where the curb she sat on...sometime earlier. The guy couldn’t even pay fifty cents for an adult woman, so he either liked younger females or was just feeling fucking cheap at the moment.

Soon she was being pulled towards a body and she didn’t want her head to be in a lap. It wasn’t, only laid there on a shoulder. The difference was her hair being stroked instead of something else that shamed her.

More words came out and she just groaned as her body hugged further into her Sis. While she’s not a professional, this ties in first place of her experience of hugs.

The other contender was only there cause it was her first fucking form of any affection that felt real; conscious laid dormant for a bare minute of a second, feeling so far away from home just huddled there, nose pressed into his neck, feeling his heart beating through his pulse point and his fingers pushing and shoving through her hair as their bodies were forced together allowing him to collide into her mouth for a kiss.

The one that is, or maybe was still tied for first place, were the ones when Rock would wake her up as his body crossed over hers, giving her a cigarette while he gazed at her. It teased her with how normal it could fully be if she had the guts to just fucking hug him. One thing this hug and her very first one had in common was how innocent the person was, at first to her.

Innocence or purity are something she’s sure Rock has on his mind all the time, though he’s changed his preaching of his own words. Confusion is still present in the cracks of her skin as she isn’t sure if her infatuation with him was out of what he represented or just to have control over an experience years ago and dominate it, forming the ending in her own hands.

What made the one with her Sis currently tie was how she wasn’t in full control of it. Comfort lingered with hidden fear at the thought of how safe it felt to not be in control, even for a few nights. It also reminds her of her first hug though with a subtle twist of it only being a hug and not masqueraded as something else. Yet she’s still unsure of the correct placement for true number one between the three hugs. Balalaika’s jacket still is warmer and smells better than his ever did.

She said a promise that she wasn’t sure she could keep but she knew it was worth it when fingers ran from her scalp to the ends.  
This...thing between them is like a parallel universe to what she and Rock had. Maybe it was only her universe at the time while Rock’s didn’t change.

Before, she might’ve wished for a bullet for her gun. Presently, she realized that you need a hand to start everything; to hold and care for the gun, to pull the trigger, and which direction the gun faced. She’s certain of one thing, right now, she doesn’t want a bullet.

“I forgot I have to fucking leave."

After that two words purified the air. Blindness held her under a thump as she still doesn’t know the question being answered.


End file.
